


As the Night is Long

by Animad345



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Human Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animad345/pseuds/Animad345
Summary: Pitch is lured by the promise of a child that believes, but when he enters the bedroom it turns out to be a young man named Jack. Jack can see and hear the Nightmare King, and is lonely enough to yearn for company. As for Pitch, this is the only time that he has ever been grateful to not be feared.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 48
Kudos: 457





	1. Chapter 1

It happens occasionally.

Pitch finds himself in a bedroom, lured by the promise of a child’s dreams, and finds a not-child. An adult, technically, but a not-child because they are not quite at the stage where their youth has gone, and it confuses his nightmares.

“Who’s there?”

That, in itself, is unusual. Normally, when he is noticed, the person reacts by switching on the light, burrowing under the covers or even leaving the room. No one would think to ask who is there, because they know full well that there isn’t anyone. The Nightmare King does not exist to them. They feel fear in a way that is irrational, but they are certain in their convictions that spirits such as he do not exist.

But this, this not-child… he believes.

“Answer me,” says the not-child. “Show yourself!”

Pitch can just make out the human's features in the moonlight. He has thick dark brown hair and eyes almost the same shade. He’s slender, of average height. He wears blue pyjamas with snowflakes on them. 

Pitch mulls over it. What’s the harm? To have a not-child believe, well… Is that an opportunity that he should turn down?

So he reveals himself, slowly. He allows his shadow to grow larger until his form is displayed as he casually leans against the windowsill.

The not-child's eyes widen and he doesn’t appear afraid, not at all. And this should anger Pitch – he should want to see fear in the eyes of the not-child – but instead, it intrigues him.

What is it about this human that makes him so calm in the face of such strangeness?

“Oh,” says the not-child. “Wow.”

Pitch frowns. He doesn’t know what to do now. He’s been seen, and that in itself is satisfying, but there’s not much point continuing this if he can’t even scare the recipient of his attentions.

And yet…

“Who are you?” asks the not-child and, to Pitch’s shock, leans closer and holds his hand out. That same hand grabs the front of Pitch’s robe.

Pitch winces, but doesn’t push him away.

The not-child lets go, and appears almost endearingly disappointed. “Can’t you talk?” 

“Of course I can talk,” snaps Pitch, before he can stop himself, and now he is being heard as well as seen. A thrill runs down his spine.

The not-child's eyes light up. “I’m Jack. And you?”

Is this human really introducing himself like this is a normal conversation, like they are two strangers at a party?

“Pitch,” he says, and now there’s no point questioning why he’s still here, why he’s bothering to interact with this not-child who isn’t at all afraid of him.

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Pitch? I thought… I mean, I thought you’d have a name like, I don't know… the Shadow Man, or something.”

“How old are you, boy?” asks Pitch, because he is curious now.

Jack shrugs. “It's Jack, not boy. And I'm eighteen. You?”

More silence and really, what on earth is Pitch doing? He should leave, he knows this, and yet the boy’s focus is keeping him in place. It’s been a very long time since he had a believer, let alone one old enough to have a proper conversation.

“No one’s going to believe me if I tell them about you,” said Jack. “So the least you can do is make it worth my while and talk to me!”

"I owe you no debt."

"I guess you don't." Jack rests his back against the headboard and draws his knees up, his arms folded around his legs. "But you're still here."

Pitch should leave, he should, and yet he feels pinned to the spot.

Jack doesn't take his eyes off Pitch, not for a moment.

"Talk to me," says Jack, again.

"Are you so desperate for company?" It's a cruel remark, one that Pitch of all entities should know better than to make.

Jack doesn't respond for a while. Then, "I suppose I am."

"Alright."

Jack brightens. "Alright? You'll stay?"

Pitch nods. "The night is long," he says carefully.

"It is," says Jack, and he smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

That first night, Pitch says very little. Jack spends a lot of the time just staring at Pitch like he can’t believe his eyes. He asks questions sporadically and Pitch occasionally answers. The more he stays in Jack’s company, the more he becomes as utterly mesmerised by Jack as Jack appears to be by Pitch.

After a few hours, Jack yawns and Pitch decides to take his leave.

“Will you come back?” asks Jack.

“If you wish,” replies Pitch, wondering why this human has reduced him to such platitudes, when Pitch’s very goal should be to make Jack fear him.

He doesn’t go back the next night, or the one after that. It would seem too eager and Pitch is already aware that he has torn off a layer of himself to show to Jack. He has exposed a side of him that no one else sees, and for what? Because one human deigned to recognise his existence?

A couple of weeks pass before he enters Jack’s bedroom again. Jack is sat up, reading a book by the faint light of a lamp.

Pitch doesn’t show his full form straightaway, until Jack looks up and spies the shadow on the wall and floor.

“You actually came back,” he says incredulously, putting his book down on the bedside table. “I thought you wouldn’t.”

“You asked me to,” replies Pitch and he cannot understand himself why he has become so submissive and meek, so obedient, in the face of this human. “Though I can’t imagine why.”

“You know why.”

Of course. Jack is lonely. And if anything, it makes Pitch more aware of the hollow space inside him that yearns for company as much as humans do. It physically pains him to see his own feelings reflected in Jack’s eyes.

“Why are you lonely?” asks Pitch, finally. “You have a family, do you not? Friends?”

“Family, but no friends. Do you want to see pictures?”

Not particularly, Pitch thinks, though he can’t help but be a little curious. Also, Jack seems eager to do so, so he allows it.

Jack rifles through his drawer and hands a large photo frame over to Pitch.

“My parents, little sister, uncle and grandfather.”

The mother is smiling brightly; she has unusual earrings with feathers in them and gleaming white teeth. The father wears an almost stern expression and he has somewhat oversized ears which nearly make Pitch laugh, but he’s in no position to criticise anyone else’s looks – he knows full well that he is no prize himself. 

The little sister is no more than a baby, held in a bundle by the mother. 

The presumed uncle has sandy hair and has an expression that implies he’s off in his own world, with a dreamy smile as though he knows a secret. Next to him stands a jolly looking, white-haired man, who is fairly rotund but carries it quite well. 

Clinging to his father’s leg is a miniature Jack, beaming, missing several milk teeth.

Pitch isn’t sure what to say, or what Jack is trying to tell him.

“You are close with your family, I take it,” says Pitch, handing the picture back.

“I am. I’m lucky. But a person needs friends, too.”

Do they? Pitch has always done without them but then, he concedes, he is not a human after all. Human beings do have an inherent desire to be wanted, to be part of something. He knows that from many, many years of observation. He has seen friendless children in the past, watched the casual cruelty of the young.

“Why don’t you have any friends?” asks Pitch bluntly.

“No one really likes me.”

Pitch eyes Jack. He was expecting an actual response, because he can’t understand why someone like Jack would struggle to make friends, especially when he was so personable with Pitch when they last met. Then it occurs to Pitch that most people would not be so quick to engage in conversation with a ‘shadow man’ as Jack had said. Maybe it’s that eccentricity that pushes others away.

This shouldn’t be affecting him at all. A not-child with a wonderful family who can’t seem to make any friends. It’s hardly a massive sob story, and Jack has the rest of his life ahead of him to forge strong connections.

And yet, it seems a shame. Jack may be an oddball, but he is sensitive and kind. He deserves friendship.

Pitch quickly scoffs like that. No one deserves anything. People get what they get. But Jack seems to impress upon Pitch the unfairness of the situation, and he can’t help but feel something when he gazes upon Jack’s crestfallen face.

It occurs to Pitch that a fair bit of time has lapsed while he was caught up in his musings. Jack is looking at him expectantly.

“If those people do not want to be your friend,” says Pitch. “Then they are not worth your time.”

Jack leans in, as though basking in the compliment. “Do you really think that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Pitch can’t help but smile, but he is careful to keep his mouth shut. As much as Jack doesn’t seem to mind Pitch’s unusual appearance, he has no desire to let his sharp teeth show.

“I truly think that, and I am also trying to make you feel better, as I would not say so otherwise.”

Jack seems satisfied with this response.

Pitch surges on. “I take it you have not told anyone about me?”

“I said to you before, they wouldn’t believe me. And… I don’t know, I kind of like having a secret.” Jack’s eyebrows furrow. “Do you visit a lot of people?”

“Only you,” clarifies Pitch, and does he imagine the relief in Jack’s features?

Jack yawns, signifying the end of this conversation. 

“Will you come back again?” he asks.

Pitch hesitates. He doesn’t like to make promises that he cannot keep, and he still has not reconciled within himself if he is enjoying these interactions or not.

But he finds himself saying ‘yes’ anyway, and when Jack smiles, everything else seems to fall away.


	3. Chapter 3

Pitch holds off for longer this time. It isn’t just about him anymore. His worries about becoming attached to Jack have morphed into concerns that Jack is becoming dependent on him.

He’s clearly left it too long this time. Jack turns his head away when Pitch enters the room. He continues to look down at his book, feigning disinterest.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he says, the tone of his voice too self-consciously casual to be genuine. 

And what is Pitch supposed to say to that? He stubbornly chases the thought that really, he shouldn’t be here at all. It’s not his fault. But he knows that in coming back, again and again, he’s made his own bed and Jack’s.

“I’m sorry,” says Pitch. The words are foreign coming from his lips, but when Jack turns to face him, he knows it was the right thing to say. Jack puts the book aside.

“Well, you don’t have to be. Like you said, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Hm. But you are going to insist on behaving like a petulant child, regardless.”

For a moment, Jack looks annoyed, and then he laughs. “I’ll try not to. Actually, you could just do something to make up for it.”

Jack is looking at him eagerly, his eyes bright, and something passes over Pitch’s mind that makes him feel almost guilty.

“What do you want?” he asks warily.

“Take me somewhere.”

“I… you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Take me where you go! You must have a home, right?”

“I will not. It’s utterly inappropriate.”

“God, inappropriate? You sound like a teacher.”

“That would make you the incalcitrant student.”

Jack sighs. “I don’t understand why not.”

“It might not even work. As amazing as this might seem to you, I don’t make a habit of spiriting humans away.”

“You could try.”

Pitch can’t believe that he’s even entertaining the idea. Perhaps because he knows that Jack will never stop asking for it. “What if you’re noticed missing?”

“My door is always locked at night.”

Pitch frowns. “Why lock your door? Won’t they knock anyway?”

“Not everyone would,” says Jack and Pitch remembers that he has a younger sister. Jack is blushing furiously now. “Privacy is important to humans, you know.”

Privacy is not a familiar concept to Pitch, who has always had more than he needs or wants.

“I’ll think about it,” he says finally. At Jack’s triumphant expression, he growls. “I said I’d think about it, you little brat. That doesn’t mean you’re getting your way.”

“Come on, Pitch.” As always, there’s a slight shock when he hears his name said aloud, so casually.

Before Pitch can think of a response, there is a furious knocking at the door.

“Jack!” It’s the sound of a child’s voice. “Let me in! Stop locking your door!”

Jack raises his eyebrows at Pitch. 

Point proven.

Jack leaps to his feet. He turns back to Pitch, biting his lip. “Don’t just disappear. Hide.”

Pitch should baulk at such an order. The human boy, ordering the Nightmare King to hide? And yet he does it anyway, allows himself to reduce so that he is merely a dark shadow, not strong enough for a child to notice.

Jack unlocks the door and a girl throws herself into his arms.

“Jack, play with me!”

“Are you kidding? It’s way past your bedtime.” But he picks up the girl and swings her around anyway. "You can stay for five minutes, no longer."

"OK," says the girl happily. They chatter mindlessly for the requisite time, and then Jack picks her up. He shoots a look in Pitch's general direction, indicating that he isn't allowed to leave, and goes.

He comes back, presumably after depositing the child in her bed, and closes the door.

"Please, Pitch," he says, as if the interruption never happened.

"I said that I'd think about it."

Jack smiles. It's obvious that he knows he's going to get his way at some point.

Pitch shakes his head, but still he stays.


	4. Chapter 4

When Pitch ventures into Jack’s room that night, the young man in question has his face turned away. “Hi, Pitch,” he says. For a moment, Pitch wonders if this is sheer petulant annoyance from Jack for not taking him to his lair. But he knows Jack better now, and can tell from the tone of voice that this isn’t the case.

He has a horrible premonition. “Jack, look at me.”

When Jack turns, Pitch can see the bruise on his cheek.

“What happened?” he hisses, remembering again that Jack is mortal, that he can be hurt in such a way.

“Just some idiots at school,” says Jack, touching his face. His arm is at a slightly weird angle, too. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Your parents must be upset.” Pitch is proud of himself for that statement. It’s taken a long time, but he finally feels like he can sound like a human in conversation. The circumstances for realising this are not the best.

“Yeah,” says Jack.

Pitch sighs. “Do you want me to leave? Am I intruding?”

“No! Don’t leave. Please, Pitch.” Jack grabs the front of his robe as he had that very first night, and Pitch lets Jack press his face against his chest. He doesn’t move to reciprocate the embrace, his hands still down by his sides, but Jack seems content enough.

“What are you going to do in return?” asks Pitch.

Jack raises his head. His eyes are still full of tears. “They already got suspended.” At Pitch’s confused expression, he continues, “That’s when they make you stay home from school.”

“I thought that children liked missing school. That doesn’t seem like a punishment.”

Jack pouts. “Are you seriously saying I should get revenge?”

Wonderful. Now Pitch isn’t only the shadowy spirit visiting a young man at all hours of the night, which is sketchy enough, but a corrupting influence as well. The fact that he's even worrying about this shows that he's in too deep. “No. Well… no, I suppose not.”

“There isn’t anything I could do.”

There are a few things I could do, thinks Pitch.

Jack laughs, as though he can read Pitch’s mind. “You’ll get them for me! Nice, Pitch. What’ll you do?”

“I’m not going to do anything,” grumbles Pitch, then hesitates. “Do you want me to?”

“No. An eye for an eye will make the world go blind.”

Pitch doesn’t particularly agree with this sentiment, but he nods anyway.

“You haven’t taken me to your lair yet. You promised.”

“You little liar. I never promised anything.”

“Oh, come on. Look at me. I'm totally broken down. Aren't I a pitiful sight?" There's a glint in Jack's eyes, like he's trying not to laugh. "Don't you want me to feel better? The least you can do is take me there.”

"Manipulative brat."

Jack does laugh then, and it's a relief to hear. His brown eyes are warm and lambent by the light of the lamp.

Pitch sighs. “Very well, then. Come. I'll take you.”

Jack's mouth actually falls open, as though he can't believe it himself that this has worked. Pitch immediately curses himself for giving in, when it's now clear that Jack didn't even expect him to.

“If I’d known getting beaten up in the hallways would make you give in, I would have asked the bullies to do it myself.”

“Keep talking like that, and you’ll have another bruise.”

Jack looks up at him, speculative. “Will I? I didn’t think I’d feel anything if you hit me.”

Pitch winces. He can touch Jack, and vice versa, but it's a reminder that his form is generally incorporeal.

“I’m not testing out that theory, Jack.”

"Probably for the best," Jack replies. Pitch wishes for the millionth time that the boy wouldn't smile at him like that. How much easier things would have been if Jack had been scared the night that Pitch came into the bedroom, if Jack hadn't been - well, Jack.

Pitch again debates the wisdom of allowing this to continue, but he pulls Jack into the shadows anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Pitch keeps Jack close to his chest and Jack has his arms around Pitch like his life depends on it. Which it probably does. Pitch is in a state of perpetual panic as the shadows consume them, but they soon land down in his lair.

“I hope you’re satisfied now,” says Pitch, full of relief, but also annoyed that he has been convinced into doing this.

“Um, Pitch?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I can’t see a thing.” Then, with a trembling voice, "I'm scared."

Unbelievable. How could Pitch not have thought of this, that a human does not have the night vision of nocturnal creatures? If he had realised that, he could have used it as an argument against Jack - but, knowing Jack, that wouldn't have deterred him. Pitch growls aloud. "You're scared of the dark?" He thinks back to the lamp that is always on in Jack's room.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

Jack’s tone of voice is now tiny and squeaky. It makes him sound much younger than it actually is, and Pitch feels bad for snapping. Jack is only a human, after all.

And then Jack’s fear begins to bleed out. It’s not fear for being in this lair, but fear that Pitch is angry at him. It’s not fear that Pitch will leave him in a hole of darkness, but fear that Pitch won’t visit again.

It’s the first time Pitch has tasted Jack’s fear, and he detests it.

“I’m not mad at you,” says Pitch gently, cradling Jack’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Actually, he did mean to, but that’s beside the point.

Another sign that he’s becoming more human in his speech is that this is the second time he’s apologised to Jack. He’s always been sceptical of this strange ritual, the idea that saying those two words fixes everything, no matter the pain inflicted.

There’s an odd disappointment that descends on Pitch. Even as he complained about taking Jack to his lair, he wanted Jack to like it if he did come.

“Should I take you back?” asks Pitch.

“Yes, please,” says Jack quietly.

Pitch closes his eyes and impresses this scene onto his memory. Him, in his lair, and not alone. The presence of another individual. It’ll make it easier to go back there, by himself.

In an instance, they are in Jack’s bedroom again. Pitch lays the young man down on the bed.

“I’m sorry, Pitch,” says Jack, and Pitch is startled to see that Jack is on the verge of tears. “You said you wouldn’t and I argued over it and there was no point to it because I ruined it – ”

“Hush, Jack. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The fear begins to overflow.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you? You’re going to leave and never come back.”

“The night I leave will be the night that you tell me to go.”

The truth of it is a shock to Pitch. When he became so beholden to the boy, he does not know.

“I wouldn’t ever tell you to do that," cries Jack.

“It’s likely that you will, Jack. This ends when you say so.”

Jack nibbles his lower lip. “You have to come back tomorrow night.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Pitch. Tomorrow. Not after a week, not after a month.”

Pitch sighs. “You’re so needy.” Then, at Jack’s expression, “Don’t apologise again.”

Where has the mischievous spirit in Jack gone? Is this the simple consequence of Pitch taking Jack to his lair, would this begging have happened anyway?

“Stay the night.”

“What?" Pitch is drawn out of his reverie. "Absolutely not!”

“Please, Pitch. Please, please, please.”

Pitch is sure that Jack will cry if he refuses and he couldn't bear that. He gives a quick nod and watches the relief cross over Jack’s face. The fear and its shadowy tendrils retreat.

Pitch carefully sits down on the bed, and Jack curls into him. 

“Jack, lie down. I’m not lying with you.”

“It’s fine. This is comfortable.”

How many times is he going to have to concede defeat to this human boy?

He lays back on the bed, a curious feeling when he is so used to hiding under them. Jack falls asleep immediately, pressed firmly against Pitch's body. The size difference is particularly acute now that they are wedged together. 

Pitch looks up at the ceiling and wonders why he has allowed this to happen. He also wonders why he can’t bring himself to regret it.


	6. Chapter 6

Pitch spends most nights with Jack, now. He doesn’t lie down in the bed – that was an exception, when Jack was on the verge of tears – but he sits up, against the headboard, with Jack curled into his side. He leaves when the sun begins to rise.

“Will you stop visiting me when I’m older?”

Pitch had thought Jack was asleep. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“I don’t believe you, though. You’re going to get sick of me some day and leave forever.”

“You’re so melodramatic.”

Jack presses himself against Pitch’s chest, nuzzling him like a kitten. Pitch wraps his arms around Jack.

“I didn’t do so well in my test yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Pitch sighs. He’d almost hoped that there was a tacit agreement between them to never talk about this again, because it only makes things more complicated. As if they were simple before. It doesn't help that Jack looks the picture of innocence right now, in his snowflake covered pyjamas. Was it really the same boy who so aggressively pursued him a scant day ago? It seems unbelievable.

Jack had kissed him the night before and they’d both got very distracted. Pitch had always thought of that kind of kissing as a stupid human thing, so he was surprised at his own reaction. He wasn’t even sure how long they had been kissing for, until Jack pulled away and yawned.

“Whose fault is that?” snaps Pitch.

“I mean, you were a participant. And you are the older, supposedly wiser one.”

“Therefore, it was my job to put an end to it and remind you that you should be sleeping, as it was a week day.” Another expression he’s picked up from Jack. He didn’t know the concept of this before, that Monday to Friday and Saturday to Sunday were different somehow, that there were week days and a weekend.

“Precisely,” replied Jack, a cheeky expression on his face.

“Brat,” says Pitch, his default reaction. Then, “What of those bullies? Do they leave you alone now?”

Jack’s expression darkens. “You should have told me.”

Pitch pushes Jack away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Yes, you do. I told you that I didn’t want to get revenge on them!”

“Oh, whatever. They’ll get over it. The objective was that they would leave you alone, and it worked. They have such insipid fears, you know.”

"No, I don't know. They're totally scared of me now."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. I deal in fear, Jack. You forget that sometimes."

"You're not like that with me," says Jack. His brown eyes seem confused, clouded over. He licks his lower lip, almost nervous, maybe anxious. The books on his bedside table are piled up, all with bookmarks in them. The whole room throbs with that of a young man who will soon come out of his shell and burst out into the real world. 

At Pitch's lack of response, Jack huffs and turns away.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!"

"Then why are you turning away from me?"

Jack doesn't reply for a long time. Then, "I don't understand you."

"The feeling is mutual."

"You never tell me about your past. I tell you everything."

Where is this coming from? Jack doesn't normally bother Pitch about his past, focussing instead on the here and now, of the fact that Pitch is beside him. Perhaps it's the kiss that has changed everything, just as Pitch feared. And how much he wants to kiss the boy right now, to assuage his concerns, but also to make him shut up about things that have nothing to do with their association.

Pitch shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

Jack turns back to him, his eyes blazing. For the first time, he seems genuinely angry. His body is tense, his jaw has tightened. But this is better than his sadness, much better. Just the thought of him crying is enough to hurt Pitch's heart.

"It does matter, Pitch. It most definitely does."


	7. Chapter 7

That night, Pitch finds Jack’s bed empty and it sends a chill down his spine. The argument was only a week ago, and he hadn’t visited since. He thought that time to cool down would help. Where on earth is Jack? Is this one of his tricks? Perhaps he'll be hiding under the bed.

He feels idiotic when he lowers himself to look, and finds nothing there.

All of Jack's belongings are still here, thankfully, but they look almost eerie in the room that is empty of its owner.

Pitch stays for a while, just staring into space, before he leaves.

Jack isn’t there the next night, nor the night after that.

Pitch finds himself replaying memories, sweet and sour. Even as he tells himself to move on, he feels like he's being ripped apart. He doesn't want to conceive of an existence without Jack, doesn't want to go back to the time when he was truly alone. He thought that Jack needed him too, but now he realises how foolish he has been.

Jack is the special one. Pitch will be replaced easily enough.

However, Pitch ends up not having too long to torture himself over this.

On the fourth night, sweet relief courses through Pitch’s veins when he sees Jack lying there in his bed with a book.

He expects to be ignored, but Jack turns to him and smiles, like nothing has happened.

“Where were you?” snaps Pitch.

“You were worried about me,” says Jack, his smile widening. “I went on holiday. It’s summer break, school’s out. We went to visit my uncle for a few nights, it was a last minute decision.” The smile falls off his face. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” says Pitch. He is, a little, but he also knows that it is irrational. “You’re no longer angry with me either then, I take it?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry, Pitch. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. Your past is your past. It’s none of my business.”

That hurts, for some reason or the other.

“So,” continues Jack. “We’re good?”

Another ridiculous human phrase, which Pitch can’t bring himself to use, not even in jest.

“Yes, Jack. We’re… everything’s fine.”

Pitch settles down on the bed. Jack rests his head on Pitch’s shoulder.

It’s a long time before Pitch speaks again.

“I thought you might have gone. I thought that I might never see you again.”

Foolish words which leave him bare and vulnerable, and yet he can’t stop himself from saying them.

“So you’re saying you would care if I was gone?”

“Oh, Jack.” Pitch takes Jack’s hands in his. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Jack tilts his head up and kisses Pitch.

It’s only the second time and, like the first, it distracts Pitch for a long time. It’s a shock when the early morning light pierces through the clouds into the room.

“Am I going to make you fail another test?” asks Pitch warily.

“No, I told you! School’s out! That means I don’t have to go there for a while.” Jack tilts his head, a shy expression passing over his face. “I wish you’d stay, sometimes. Is there some rule that says you have to go when the sun rises?”

“I suppose not.”

“Stay a little longer?”

Pitch looks out of the window and gives the sun a rueful look.

“I shall.”


	8. Chapter 8

Pitch eyes Jack curiously. “Have you grown?” He doesn't always indulge the boy by sleeping with him in the bed. He is leaning back against the window pane and Jack is facing him, his legs dangling. A range of expressions cross over Jack's face, from embarrassment to delight. He runs a hand through his hair to flatten it in a strangely adult gesture, that of a person trying to look smarter.

Jack laughs. “Yeah. A couple of inches in the last year. I’m still short, though, as far as men go.”

“You’re not a man, you’re a boy.”

“Legally, I am a man.”

“To an immortal spirit, you are still a child.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “You never told me how old you are.”

“I have no idea.”

“You’ve lost count?”

“Something like that.”

Fear has always existed, but he doesn't want to tell Jack that. Pitch doesn't know exactly when he became a part of it, melded to it inseparably. 

Jack licks his lips, seemingly unconsciously, but it attracts Pitch's attention. He seems particularly pensive this evening. It’s a hot night, and he hasn’t bothered to put on his top, though he still wears the snowflake pyjama bottoms.

When Pitch entered the room and found him like that, he demanded that Jack put something on, and Jack ignored him.

“Pull the blanket over yourself,” says Pitch, finally, as Jack continues to seem in his own world.

“Seriously, Pitch? It’s just my chest.”

“Do it, Jack,” he says, in a tone that demands no argument.

Jack sighs heavily, and does as requested. He has changed since Pitch first met him, not so long ago in the grand scheme of things. He’s more thoughtful now, often trapped in his own world, shaking out of it momentarily when Pitch asks a question.

“You said before that you don’t visit anyone else,” says Jack, surprising Pitch. “Can other people see you?”

“Some can. Not many.”

“So I’m special,” says Jack, in a tone so playful and comical that Pitch doesn’t bother to rebuff him.

“Hmmm,” says Pitch, knowing that his next few words will likely incite a positive reaction. “I suppose you are.”

“Well, you’re still here. You still come and see me.”

“That I do.”

Jack’s eyes become sad for a moment, clouding over.

Pitch is alarmed. “Jack, what is it?”

“Do you ever get, like… you know… a sort of premonition? Like you know that something’s going to go wrong?”

Pitch hesitates. “Is something happening? Are those boys at school bothering you again?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just keep getting the feeling that something’s going to happen, something bad.”

Unease stirs deep within Pitch.

“Hey, Pitch?” Suddenly, Jack’s tone is back to normal. “Why don’t I ever have nightmares anymore? Not since I met you. Isn’t that weird, seeing as you’re the Nightmare King?”

Jack asked Pitch once about his other titles, and this one seemed to intrigue him the most.

“You’re saying that you used to have nightmares before you met me and now you don’t,” he says flatly, uncomfortable because he can’t offer any answers to this.

Really, he’s focussing on what Jack said before.

Pitch is more than willing to protect the boy, but he can’t be around all the time.

“Keep yourself safe,” he says quietly. “I mean it, Jack.”

Jack smiles. “I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

Pitch is lying with Jack underneath the bed. At some point, Pitch had confessed that he felt much more comfortable there than on top of the mattress, and Jack had immediately indulged it – nay, practically dragged Pitch under it.

They’ve been silent for a long time before it is broken.

“I keep having this dream,” says Jack. “It’s like I’m drowning.”

“That sounds like a nightmare. I would know, they are my territory. You said that you didn’t have them anymore?”

“I’m not scared in the dreams, so they can’t be nightmares.”

Pitch thinks about this. He’s been feeling uncomfortable ever since Jack confessed to his dark premonitions.

Still, Jack’s head is against his chest. The boy is right here. Nothing can happen to him in Pitch’s arms.

Despite this, Pitch still worries.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Jack.

“Nothing,” lies Pitch.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me, then.” It comes out colder than Pitch had intended. Jack rolls to his side, away from Pitch. “Jack – ”

“How do you feel about me, Pitch?”

It’s such a ludicrous, human question that Pitch pauses for a moment. He can’t answer.

“Pitch.” It’s barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

Pitch sits up so quickly he nearly knocks his head against the wood above, not that it would affect him much.

“No,” he says. 

“Please don’t go. If you don’t feel that way about me, just say so, but don’t go.”

“Of course I love you, you stupid boy,” snaps Pitch. He’s pretty sure Jack will slap him for that – Pitch learned recently that 'stupid' is the word Jack most objects to – but instead, Jack wraps his arms around Pitch’s neck and kisses him.

Pitch suddenly feels cold. A chill runs down his spine and throughout his body. Everywhere that he is pressed against Jack, even through his robe and the boy’s pyjamas, is freezing.

Jack was never particularly warm, but he never felt like this.

When Pitch turns his head to the side, he can just about make out the Man in the Moon through the wide window from his position on the floor. His own medicine courses through him – fear, true fear, unlike any he has ever faced. It’s a worse omen to him when he finds that Jack has fallen asleep. He gently pulls the boy out from underneath the bed, and lays him on top of it.

He has ignored the Man in the Moon all this time. Doubtless, Pitch’s meetings with Jack have not gone unnoticed, but there is no law in place that says this is forbidden. Perhaps that is a tacit rule, however – it is foolish and misguided for a spirit to associate with a mortal in this way, in any way. Pitch knows that.

He runs a gentle hand through Jack’s hair before pulling the covers over him.

Another bout of fear strikes through him.

“Don’t take him from me,” he says to the lunar spirit. His tone is close to pleading, even as he tries to control himself. His voice is shaking. “Please, not him.”

Naturally, the Man in the Moon does not respond.

Pitch takes one last look at Jack before he leaves. Jack is as peaceful as Pitch has ever seen him. The boy continues to slumber, as though he hasn’t a care in the world.

If only Pitch were so lucky.


	10. Chapter 10

Pitch can’t say ‘no’ to Jack and he’s past the point of questioning it. The truth is in sharp focus right now, because he’s currently in Jack’s closet with the young man in question curled against him.

“You like the darkness,” Jack had said, upon suggesting it. “And we’re always on the bed, or under the bed. I’m just suggesting a change of location – ugh, don’t say it. Yes, I know we’re still in the same room. But it’s not like you’ll take me anywhere.”

“It didn’t work out so well last time.”

“That was a long time ago. You could try taking me there again.”

Pitch is holding Jack tightly. Normally, Jack positively melts into Pitch’s touch, but his body keeps tensing.

“What are you worrying about?” asks Pitch, praying that Jack’s dark premonitions haven’t come back.

“I finish school soon. I was… I was actually held back a grade.” Jack, clearly a master at anticipating Pitch’s questions at this point, continues, “That means that I was supposed to finish school last year, but I couldn’t.”

Pitch doesn’t pretend to understand the matters of education and work in the human world, but he understands enough to ask, “Why?”

“I had an accident. The lake… it freezes over every year. I took my little sister there to skate. It was really stupid of me. I mean, it’s dangerous. Thank goodness she was OK. But I… the ice broke, and I fell in.”

“Your sister saved you?” asked Pitch sceptically. Surely the little girl would be far too small and weak to do that. 

Pitch distracts himself as best he can, because the image of Jack falling through ice chills him to the bone.

Jack inhales deeply. “I don’t know what actually did happen. Someone must have come and helped me out, because the next thing I knew, I was back on the ground and my sister was there. I’d broken my leg quite badly, and I had hypothermia. It sounds pathetic, but even after my leg was healed and I was better, I was still scared. I had nightmares – ”

He stops abruptly. 

Pitch sighs. “Jack. You won’t offend me by disparaging what plagued your sleep.”

Jack continues. "I was just getting back on my feet, but I was still shaky. I’d started going to school again, but everyone was talking behind my back. That’s when I met you. Everything started to get better after that.”

Pitch tries to ignore the warmth that flows through him. It can’t be healthy, after all.

“Your sister must have seen who saved you."

“She didn’t,” says Jack. “That’s the crazy thing. Apparently she was crying really hard and maybe she’d even turned away from the lake. Or, she could’ve run off home, but she didn’t. She was definitely still there.”

“So there’s a secret hero out there, then.” Pitch feels suddenly, irrationally jealous of whoever this person is. Whatever Jack thinks that Pitch has done for him, it’s not the same as saving his life.

“I guess so.”

“Don’t you think about it? Don’t you want to know?”

Jack is silent for so long that Pitch wonders if he’s fallen asleep against him.

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Jack whispers.

“No, I won’t.”

“I think… I think the Moon saved me.”

Pitch tries not to react noticeably. Whilst Jack can’t see Pitch’s face, they can still feel each other as they press so closely together.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Jack.”

Pitch does not trust the Man in the Moon. He does not have reason to. All this time, he’s been begging the lunar spirit not to let anything happen to Jack, and yet if it weren’t for the Man in the Moon, Pitch wouldn’t have met Jack at all.

“When I came to, it was dark, and the moon was full. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was moonlight. It was beautiful.”

Pitch frowns. “So a terrible thing happened in the past, certainly. Is that the reason for your premonitions? You’re worried something like that will happen again? You did say you feel like you’re drowning.”

“I’m scared about graduating. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve applied for colleges, but I think I’d rather work. I look at my future and it just seems so meaningless.” Jack presses his face against Pitch’s chest, and the next words are muffled. “I’m scared I won’t see you anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re not. But I am, one day. I’ll die.”

Pitch shakes his head, the thought sickening him. “You’re young and healthy. You’ll live for many, many years.”

“Not enough years to be with you. Plus, you don’t age, and I do. That’s weird, don’t you think?”

“No,” says Pitch.

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

Pitch sighs and presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Yes.”

“You’ve turned all monosyllabic.”

“Mm.”

“Argh.”

Pitch pushes open the closet door and picks up Jack, carrying him bride style to the bed.

"Go to sleep," he orders and Jack complies surprisingly quickly, his body relaxing. Perhaps the conversation released his tension somewhat.

Pitch looks out of the window. It's a new moon, but of course, the Man in the Moon is still there even when not visible.

"Thank you," says Pitch, something else to add to the list of things he never thought he'd say or do.

And all because of Jack.


	11. Chapter 11

Pitch didn't want the darkness to seep into Jack, especially when he now knew how prone Jack was to depression. If Pitch stayed away and came back, Jack would be angry and hurt all over again. But they couldn't carry on like this forever. Pitch’s presence was doing nothing except pulling Jack away from the real, human world, where he should have been a willing and enthusiastic participant.

Shadows were becoming attracted to Jack. When Pitch lay with him, he sometimes found tendrils of darkness wrapping themselves around Jack's body. With all his heart, Pitch could not allow even the possibility of Jack being changed, affected, by Pitch's own being.

He never wanted to make this decision, but he had to.

A week passed, then a month, then several.

Every moment, all he thought about was Jack, and especially their last meeting.

But when a year was gone, and the ground outside was covered in thick snow, he came back. He couldn't keep away anymore.

Jack was gone.

It wasn't like the last time. He saw Jack’s family, but not Jack. He watched as Jack’s sister cried inconsolably into her pillow. He hung back and observed as Jack’s parents embrace fervently, as if they’re trying to keep each other from physically falling to pieces. The uncle visited frequently and so did the grandfather, both looking like they would never smile again.

That was when Pitch found Jack’s grave.

One day, he sat by the lake where the accident happened and wondered what happened this time. But in his heart, he knew. Jack died by his own hand. Jack was dead because of Pitch.

He refused to believe that it was merely the loss of him, Pitch leaving, that caused this despair. Jack had suffered with this in the past, and despite what he said, Pitch would never be enough to cure such an ailment. Still, none of that mattered now.

Jack's parents. Jack's sister. Jack's uncle, Jack's grandfather.

They knew Jack in a way that Pitch did not. The agony, the pain... it was so different from Pitch's, arguably so much worse.

Jack was not meant to die young. He was meant to grow and thrive. He had so much to offer, such vibrancy, such brilliance. Such tragedies occurred on earth, every day, and Pitch had never thought anything of it. He hadn't known that the loss of one person could cause a chasm in the lives of so many others.

Jack was meant to live.

If Pitch could have erased his own existence at that moment, he would have. If the Man in the Moon had been more merciful, he would have listened to Pitch’s begging and pleading, and finally taken him apart, destroyed him.

But Pitch's wishes were in vain.

It was many years later when he summoned the strength to return to Jack's grave. Almost immediately, he heard familiar laughter behind him.

He turned sharply. In the distance, he saw a figure with silvery white hair flying over the rooftops. Joy and wonder filled him. For a moment, he just knew, and he turned, a broad smile on his face and –

No. No, no, no.

His heart broke.

It wasn't his Jack. One close look at the spirit, and Pitch knew this. He may have had Jack’s form and face, but it was not him.

Pitch knew that the spirit would not recognise him if he dared approach.

So he watched from afar. Jack was always unattainable, an impossible dream. They were never meant to be together.

If spirits could become sick, then this was what happened to the Nightmare King.

Eventually, he grew too weak to leave his lair.

He only heard news about the outside world from his own nightmares, reporting back to him.

It was from their hearsay that he found out about the teeth.

Rumours... could they possibly be true?

He summoned his favourite nightmare to complete one last task.

***

Jack can always feel a shadow close behind him. Whenever he tries to find its source, it disappears. He’s not afraid of the shadow. He tolerates its existence, because no one else acknowledges that he’s there at all.

Then, the shadow stops. Suddenly Jack is completely, entirely alone.

When he goes to the lake that day, somewhere he is always irresistibly pulled to for reasons that he can't fathom, he finds something on the icy surface.

With shaking hands, he retrieves the golden cylinder and brings it close to his chest.

***

As Pitch lies on the ground of his lair, inert, he feels a chill. He must be imagining it. He barely reacts when he sees the nightmare.

“Were you able to?”

An affirmative snort.

It’s a foolish thing. If memories are contained within the teeth, would they not only last until the wearer had all of theirs replaced? Jack had had all of his teeth for years when Pitch met him, so why would he remember?

But shortly before Pitch left for good, Jack had taken a tumble, and lost a tooth, so perhaps - just maybe - 

When he feels a cool hand on his face, he still does not react. His own fevered imagination is best ignored.

What he hears next sends shockwaves through his system and warmth bleeds into his heart.

The few words are spoken in a soft, questioning tone, a note of desperation running through them - a dash of hope, even. Everything that happened has led up to this moment, one of true, unrivalled happiness.

“Pitch? Is it really you?”


End file.
